


fractured memories

by alderations



Series: Whumptober/Mechtober 2020 [7]
Category: The Mechanisms (Band), Ulysses Dies at Dawn - The Mechanisms (Album)
Genre: Alcohol, Drunkenness, Enemy to Caretaker, Hades!Ashes, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other, Persephone!Tim, Suicidal Thoughts, Support, Whumptober 2020, bad sp-puns, udad-typical suicidal ideation, very loose use of that prompt tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26890681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alderations/pseuds/alderations
Summary: Ashes has spent enough time in the City to know who Ulysses is and what they’ve been up to, but when they finally stumble into the Styx one night, clutching their head and limping around the more distinguished patrons, they’re genuinely taken aback.(Whumptober Day 7: support/enemy to caretaker; Mechtober Day 7-9: UDAD)
Relationships: Ashes O'Reilly/Gunpowder Tim, Ashes O'Reilly/Ulysses (Ulysses Dies At Dawn)
Series: Whumptober/Mechtober 2020 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950916
Comments: 17
Kudos: 77
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	fractured memories

**Author's Note:**

> cw for a lot of suicidal ideation on both Ulysses's and Ashes' parts, and a lot of alcohol/drunkenness talk. take care of yourselves <3

Ashes has spent enough time in the City to know who Ulysses is and what they’ve been up to, but when they finally stumble into the Styx one night, clutching their head and limping around the more distinguished patrons, they’re genuinely taken aback.

Normally, Ashes wouldn’t be tending the bar themself. Charon is in the far corner of the place, running some negotiations with Persephone on his arm, giggling and twirling her hair; meanwhile, Ashes surveys the scene until their eyes land on the absolute  _ hunk  _ making a beeline for the bar. Their face is familiar, but Ashes doesn’t place it until they slide into the chair directly in front of them and slam a few coins weakly onto the countertop. “Whiskey?” they beg.

“Sure.” Ashes fixes them a glass, even though they’re already drunk as a Saturnian skunk, given the way they sway on the bar stool and stare right through Ashes.

The whiskey disappears by the time Ashes can blink, and when they hold out the glass for more, Ashes frowns. “How much have you had already?”

“Enough.” Their voice is gruff, but the eyes that stare up at Ashes are desperate and piercing. “Look, Hades—I know who you are, I’m, uh. Connected. Don’t worry about it.”

Ashes pours them another finger of whiskey, just to be diplomatic, before replacing the bottle on its shelf. “Wasn’t gonna deny it. Ulysses, right?”

“Yeah. Sure. I just—I need to… I need to ask you about something, and—”

“Right now?” Ashes raises an eyebrow when they scowl. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re barely conscious. Not exactly the time to be pleading with an Olympian.”

Ulysses’s narrowed eyes send a message that Ashes hasn’t heard in a long time—the tender, growing suspicion that they’re not an Olympian. That they’ve never belonged amongst this city’s horrendous elite, but rather to something even worse. “It’s… I’ve waited for a long time already, I just… I can’t leave now.”

“You don’t have to,” Ashes reassures them, keeping their voice down. They’re not exactly an innkeeper, and they don’t want other patrons getting that idea. That being said, most of their other patrons aren’t nearly as intriguing as smoking-hot-war-hero-turned-desperate-drunk here. “Tell you what. Spend the night upstairs, sober up, get some warm food and drink, and we can talk in the morning. Sound good?”

Apprehension builds in their face as their inebriated synapses catch up with Ashes’ words. “Upstairs…?”

“Yeah. We’ve got some extra rooms. Don’t go spreading that around, of course, but you’re welcome to stay the night if you’re looking to do business anyway.”

Something softens about Ulysses then, their scarred edges relaxing into the shape of a person who wants to rest more desperately than they’ve ever let themself consider. “I… that would be nice, actually. I have plenty of money, if…”

Ashes laughs under their breath. “Don’t worry about it. Like I said, business tomorrow.”

They take Ulysses’s empty glass back and then round the bar, helping them to their feet with an elbow held out as if they’re about to attend a spectacular ball. From the corner of the room, Ashes feels Persephone’s eyes tracking them. They elect to ignore her for now, instead guiding Ulysses out of the bar through the back room, then up the stairs, drifting closer to the cool solidity of their body in the tiny staircase. They smell remarkably good for someone so drunk, Ashes notes.

Once they’ve guided Ulysses to a room of their own, they head back down to the kitchen to have a chat with their chef, who gives them a series of increasingly knowing looks but fixes them a plate regardless. It’s a toss-up whether Ulysses will have passed out by the time they bring the food, they figure, but it’s a nice gesture all the same. Because they’re a damn good host, they grab an enormous glass of water and some spibuprofen on their way back up.

They’re pleasantly surprised to find Ulysses awake and walking around when they knock on their door, even if ‘walking around’ really means ‘checking every conceivable corner for bugs and/or weapons.’ Ashes would expect nothing less. “Dinner?” they suggest, holding out the plate as casually as they can, because they are absolutely  _ not  _ invested in this hot famous mortal. Not in the slightest. “And spibuprofen, since you’ll likely need it.”

“Oh, I—thanks,” Ulysses mumbles. They seem genuinely surprised to be on the receiving end of any kindness whatsoever, but Ashes hopes to change that. “Will you… stay?”

It’s an odd request, coming from a guest of the Styx, but Ashes doesn’t say so. “Sure. I’m leaving the door open, though, else Persephone will get her knickers in a twist.”

Ulysses actually laughs at that—a soft snort, really, but it’s something. The two of them sit down on either side of the small table behind the door, where Ulysses picks at their food and Ashes takes the time to backread in the group chat. Tim wants to know what they’re doing with  _ tall, dark, and war criminal.  _ Ashes tells him to find out for himself.

Once Ulysses actually starts to eat, they realize how hungry they are, and the rest of the plate is emptied in a matter of minutes, followed by most of the water. Their eyes are clearer now, sobered up just enough to watch Ashes with the shrewd curiosity of someone who could actually find their way to the Styx unscathed. “You’re not actually an Olympian, right?”

Ashes’ eyebrows shoot up. “That’s a bold accusation to start off with.”

“Not an accusation. More an observation.” They clear their throat, then take another long sip of water. “You, Persephone, that oracle… there are a few others. You all appeared out of the blue, and there’s something—some  _ energy  _ about you. I’m not the only one who’s noticed it.”

“Not hard to pick up on, if you have enough time to observe,” Ashes replies, but they still offer Ulysses an appraising smirk. “And a good idea. Which you certainly do, Ulysses.”

They look down at the table. “Yeah. Sure. I was  _ going  _ to say that if you’re not actually an Olympian, you might be able to help me.”

“Not an Olympian, certainly, but I’m still the one in charge of the Acheron. You sure you want my help, out of anyone in the City?”

The corners of their eyes crinkle as they ponder Ashes’ words, like the wrinkles that were once crows’ feet are dreaming of what they could’ve been. “Yes, in fact. I want to die, Hades.”

“You… what?”

Ulysses looks up at them, and  _ damn,  _ those eyes hit them just as hard every time. “I want to die. And I know people come here all the fucking time, begging to get people out of the Acheron or keep themselves out of the Acheron, and I know I’m no different, but I—I can’t live like this. I can’t  _ die  _ like this. Do you have any idea what it’s like to have the echoes of a million lives in your head, screaming at you for everything you’ve ever done wrong? I can’t close my eyes without seeing their bodies, their blood, their fucking  _ entrails  _ all over the streets, and I think about the fact that every single one of those deaths was pointless, and every single one was because of  _ me.” _

For a long minute, Ashes leans on their hands and stares into the wood grain of the table. They smell smoke. The longer they stay in the City, the more often that happens; probably some weird psychosomatic effect of their brain telling them to get the fuck out of this messed-up spiderweb. “Yes, actually.”

“Ah.” Ulysses’s face twists, guilt and grief and confusion in one. “So you… understand?”

Ashes thinks about Penelope, the wife Ulysses buried alone and untouched by the Acheron, the wife they think no one knows about. To be a mind at rest, a mind that ceases to exist and returns, atom by atom, to the broad eternity of the cosmos, is too sweet a fate for Ashes to even dream. “Of course I do.”

The silence of mutual understanding lasts for all of a second, before Persephone swings through the door frame, her hair falling loose from its delicate bun and her eyebrows already waggling at Ashes. “Hadeeeees,” she whines. “It’s boring downstairs. Are you hogging all the hot war heroes for yourself?”

“Yes,” Ashes deadpans, not moving as Persephone slumps onto their lap and wraps her gangly arms around their neck.

“So rude. Your only wife, all alone and neglected at the bar, while you sit up here chattering away with the City’s finest, not even sparing a second for your—hey!”

Ashes pinches her side, then laughs when Persephone sits up straight and bats their hand away. “We were talking business up here, actually, so unless  _ you  _ have business with Ulysses, I suggest you leave me to my work.”

“Hm. Last I checked, they don’t have much to offer the agricultural sector.” Persephone turns their head to look Ulysses up and down, which makes them fidget. “I’ll be expecting you, though. Don’t make me wait.”

With that, she saunters back out, leaving Ashes to roll their eyes and lean on the table again. “We’ll talk more tomorrow, yeah? Just know that I’m on your side, Ulysses. I mean that.”

They sit back in their chair and stare at Ashes for a very long moment, chilling them through with those all-knowing eyes. “I appreciate it.”

Later, in their own private chambers, Tim drapes himself over Ashes’ shoulders while they balance the day’s ledgers—not for the bar, of course, but for all the poor idiots trying to save their souls from the Acheron. “So are you going to help Ulysses kick the bucket, or…?”

“I think so,” Ashes muses, tipping their head to one side and letting Tim’s soft curls brush across their face. “That ‘boo hoo I’m such a terrible murderer’ act really does pluck at the heartstrings.”

Tim lets out a dry laugh. “I think it’s funny, personally. Who has time for  _ guilt?  _ Idiot.” When Ashes just shakes their head, Tim leans forward to study their face as much as he can from that angle, then pokes them in the cheek. “Christ, you’re really going to hook up with them, aren’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“I can’t wait to tell Jonny about this,” he teases.

**Author's Note:**

> sup hello i was excited to write ashes/ulysses and just vibin with it, thinking how the fuck is this actually whump you dingdong, and then at midnight or so i got to the part where ulysses was rambling about wanting to die and was like "hoho! time to vent my own intrusive thoughts i guess!" so here we are. maybe ill reread this in a few days and feel good about it? it felt poetic while i was writing? i have therapy in the morning. dw bout me.
> 
> anyway. if you made it this far, i hope you enjoyed this and i would be absolutely Delighted if you left a comment! i eat them like forbidden cereal. monch cronch. find me on tumblr @alderations but, like, tomorrow after i get some Fucking sleep.


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